The Silver Birch
by whalerider
Summary: The untold story of a young marchwarden of Lothlorien, Limbrethil the son of Orophin, raised by his uncles, an unsung warrior of the elves.  Original characters, plus Haldir, Rumil, Fellowship, etc...
1. Chapter 1

The seventeenth day of Nórui, in the year 2745 of the Third Age of the Sun. A warm summer's day when all the flowers were in bloom and all the trees were speaking. The day my father died. On that day, I heard my mother scream for the first time. After that day, I never heard her speak again in Arda.

I awoke early that morning to the smell of baking bread, flowers, and dewdrops. Biting my lip in concentration, I navigated the small stairs leading from my bedroom as best I could, freezing in place when my left foot landed on a creaking step. I poked my head inside the bedroom of my parents as I continued down; Ada had already left for the western borders, and Ama was nowhere in sight, the bed neatly made and covered with a soft green quilt. Outside, beyond the many arches and windows, I could hear the outskirts of Caras Galadhon slowly coming to life as the sun crept above the horizon.

As I passed Ama's sewing room, I stopped at the door, holding my breath as I carefully peered around the corner. Ama sat in a pool of weak morning sunlight, dappled in pale greens and silver as the sun filtered through the trees. Her silver needle flashed in the light and her moon-colored hair swung gently about her face as she bobbed her head to a soft song she hummed. Her needle dove in and out of the sparkling silver-blue fabric she held, stitching slender green leaves onto an impossibly tiny gown. Good…she didn't seem to know I was awake.

Retreating from the doorway to my mother's peaceful morning refuge, I padded cat-footed further down the stairs into the great room. Ah, there was my goal, sitting on a platter made of woven silver vines. The scent of lembas and honey beckoned me closer, and I edged towards the platter, hands cautiously outstretched. Freezing and chancing one last glance around the room, I grabbed one of the sweet biscuits, mouth watering in anticipation as I lifted it to my mouth and bit down into the sweet soft-blast. It was as hard as a rock!

I frowned as only an elfling of three hundred years could frown, my entire face wrinkled up in disgust, and reached for another biscuit. Perhaps this one merely came out wrong, though I had never dreamed my mother to be anything but the best baker in all of Lorien. Too late, I heard the soft padding of slippered feet, and I had only time to bite my lip and gasp before a sharp hand came down across my knuckles, and the point of my right ear was twisted twixt a slender thumb and index finger.

"And just what do you think you're doing, my little tree?" asked a voice above me, stern and yet trying (and failing) to hide the amusement in its depths as I was turned around, led by the hand still attached to my ear.

I stared up into a pair of soft, moss-silver eyes and bit my lip once more. Ama stood there, the tiny gown in one hand, the other hand on her hip, her needle clenched expertly between lips curving gently upwards in amusement. Blasted Morgoth's nose. I'd been caught. Squirming slightly to disguise my actions, I reached my left arm behind me, attempting to return the wafer of lembas to its tray before she figured out I had already helped myself. It worked. I snaked my arm back down to my side, brushing the remaining crumbs from my fingers against my sleep pants, and tried very hard to look innocent. "Umm…uhh…I woke up early to…uhh…" I bit my lip and rolled my eyes skyward as I thought. "I was going to make you breakfast, Ama? Because I love you?" I pasted a sweetly pleading smile across my face and gazed up at my mother adoringly.

Ama chuckled to herself as she released my ear, stabbed her needle through the little gown, and placed it onto the branch of a mellyrn tree that reached into our home, providing a convenient shelf. "With that, I imagine?" she laughed, raising her eyebrows at the platter of lembas behind me. "And you thought you'd taste-test it first, yes?"

I clasped my hands behind my back, fidgeting. "Well, you see, Ama, I uhh…well…I was going to…"

My mother's face grew stern in an instant. "Speak the truth plainly, Limbrethil. You know I don't tolerate falsehoods in my house. Were you trying to sneak those biscuits away for yourself? And don't lie to me, I can see tooth marks on the one you placed back on the tray."

I shuffled my feet in embarrassment, feeling a flush turning even the points of my ears pink. "Yes, Ama." Dropping my gaze to the floor, I studied the path of a tiny green beetle as it worked its way across my bare toes. Hot tears threatened to spill from my eyes, my childish humiliation complete. "I'm sorry I made you angry."

Ama dropped into a half-crouch in front of me, gently pressing her hands to my flaming cheeks. Her thumbs brushed at my downcast eyes, freeing the tears and wiping them away. "Oh, little tree," she breathed. "I'm not angry with you, I could never be angry with you. But you mustn't take that which is not yours, do you understand? I worked very hard to make those. You do not take food unless it is offered to you, elfling. It is rude and ungracious."

I nodded slowly, scuffing my feet against the sun-warmed floor. "I'm sorry, Ama," I muttered to the floorboards. "I won't do it again. Besides," I stared at her with the wide-eyed, innocent accusation of a child who was given something other than he expected, "they're hard as rocks, the lot of them! You make good food, Ama, why are they so hard?"

Ama threw back her head and laughed, the delicate peals soothing my injured pride. "Those are for your cousin Helediriel, dear child. I made them with extra honey for sweetness so she's bound to eat them, and I baked them twice so they are hard enough for her. She's teething, little tree. Do you remember when your teeth were growing in?" She stroked my hair gently, rubbing at the points of my ears in passing, enough to wash away the remainder of my embarrassment.

I nodded, all wide-eyed confusion. "You gave me hard lembas and cold carrots. But Ama…why?"

Ama grinned, taking my hand and guiding me to a large clear mirror that hung from another mellyrn branch. Taking my face gently in her hands again, she brushed at my lower lip until I opened my mouth. "Do you see where your tooth grows into your jaw?" I nodded eagerly. "That is where your teeth live until they're ready to grow into your mouth. They sleep under your skin and bone until they're old enough to grace the rest of your pretty face, and they have to push and pull very hard to wake up and grow. Do you remember how your poor mouth ached, and you cried for hours on end? The hardness of the foods rubs your mouth and tells your teeth it's all right to come out, that you're old enough to use them. The cold numbs the pain."

"Ohhhh." I bobbed my head agreeably, not quite understanding how teeth could grow, but content to accept that there were some things the grown-ups knew that I would have to figure out when I was a grown-up. "Ama, does that mean that Aunt Laeroneth is bringing her over today?" My mind wandered as I contemplated the thought of a teething, crying, young elfling, and a female one at that. I began to calculate how long it would take me to reach Ada and my uncles out by the western training grounds.

Ama pursed her lips disapprovingly, surely seeing the wheels turning in my mind. "Yes. And don't think you're getting out of this, little tree. I caught you sneaking food that wasn't yours. I may not be angry, but there are still consequences for your actions. While…" She trailed off into silence, the color slowly seeping from her face as she stared off into the distance.

I twisted around in her arms, grabbing her hands and leading her to a nearby chair. "…Ama?" I gently toyed with a strand of her hair as she sank into the seat and cupped her chin in her hands. "Ama, what is it?"

Ama shook her head slowly as if coming out of a deep sleep. "I don't know, little tree. I…I don't know." She pulled me close, burying her nose in my hair and breathing in deeply, as if she had been away for a long, long time without sight of her son. Pulling back, she brushed her hands along my face and offered a weak smile. "A distant grief, something that may not even come to pass. Something grown-ups worry about." She stood and offered me her hand. "Now come, we're meeting your aunt at the waters I tend. Let's get you dressed."

Ten minutes later, I was scratching uncomfortably under the band Ama had tied around my hair. "Ama, I hate having my hair in a tail! Can't I wear the warrior braids like Ada?"

Ama merely ran a finger under the collar of my tunic and shook her head, smiling softly. "I told you there would be consequences for trying to pilfer your cousin's teething biscuits, little tree, amusing though it certainly was. While your aunt and I are tending to matters, you will be minding little Helediriel."

I groaned in protest, inwardly shuddering at the thought of the tiny girl squawking and tugging on my ears. "But Ama…!"

"No "but's", my little sapling," Ama chided softly. "You did a wrong and now you will atone for it." She licked a finger and passed it over the very tip of my nose. "Besides, babies can be quite wonderful company if you know how to treat them. They do not judge or argue, they do not mock or scorn. They love you and you are their entire world, that is enough for them."

Deciding that this was one argument I would be unable to win, I rolled my eyes and scuffed my boots the entire way down the winding staircase that encircled our tree, Ama close behind bearing the tiny gown and platter of hard lembas.

We made our way across the soft, mossy ground, and I fought the urge to kick off my boots and try to see how many of the tiny niphredil and elanor I could pick with my toes. The sound of gently falling water grew louder as we made our way deeper into the forest, until we came to a small lake among the trees, fed by a softly rushing waterfall. I immediately kicked off my boots, rolled up the legs of my pants, and planted my feet in the soft, almost muddy earth at the very edge of the water. I leaned towards the edge, mesmerized by the water which reflected all the stars of the night sky, even under the light of the morning sun. I dipped my hands into the water, letting it trickle back into the lake through my fingers. Like the water of many of the other pools and fountains throughout Lothlorien, this water was never meant to be drunk; it held the magic of the stars and the water itself, and drinking it was a peril most dared not test. Unlike some of the other waters, this was safe to touch.

A tiny hand grabbed my ankle with typical unrestrained infant strength and the unshakable iron grip mastered only by the very young. I was suddenly very glad Ama had tied my hair in a tail. Turning half around, I finally saw the tiny, slender infant crouched on all fours and clinging to my foot as if she and I were the last creatures alive in all of Arda. Kingfisher blue eyes with a hint of silvery green stared up at me in amazement, framed by hair the color of a pale summer sun. The tiny girl cooed and buzzed her lips, a tiny dribble of saliva somehow ending up on her nose. I blinked several times. Helediriel. Lovely. So this was my punishment: toting around a barely sentient spit-shop. I closed my eyes and groaned, thinking of the tranquil discipline of the training grounds and how much I would rather be there, watching my father and uncles training the older boys.

"Right, then," I muttered, eying the tiny elfling suspiciously as she tried to bite my ankle. "If you can't get at my ankles, you can't cause me any trouble. Into the flet you go, then." I scooped the girl up in my arms and stalked over to a fairly young mellyrn tree whose branches still grew close to the ground. A small children's flet rested slightly above the level of my head, accessible only by tiny steps notched into a log resting up against the side of the platform. Switching my tiny cousin to the crook of one arm, I used the other arm to aid the short climb into the flet.

Setting Helediriel down and fishing a hardened lembas wafer from my pocket for her to gum on, I reached behind my back and pulled a small book from the waistband of my pants. At least I'd have something to do besides lend myself as a chew toy. I glanced down over the edge as Ama and Aunt Laeroneth hugged and chattered together down below, and rolled my eyes. Grown-ups. They never had time for anything fun. Paying mind to keep Helediriel from wandering straight off the edge of the flet, I stuck out my tongue at my mother's back, and settled in to read.

As the day wore on, my eyes grew heavy. A member of an immortal race who needed little sleep, I surely was, but as any young boy, I grew easily tired and distracted when confronted with monotony…or a drooling baby. Setting my book aside, I gathered my little cousin back into my arms, sighing in resignation as she worked a thick strand of hair free from its tail and started chewing on it. I gave one last glance over the edge of the flet, then curled myself up around the tiny girl, hoping that I would drift off into sleep, or at least fall into a heavy stupor where my daydreams could take form in my mind without distraction.

The sound of crackling twigs made me blink rapidly, and I opened my eyes fully. Something was…different. I no longer cradled the strangely comforting weight of an infant in my arms, and there was no book spread open along its spine next to my head. In fact, I was no longer laying down at all. I felt different. I felt…older. Taller. Bigger. An ache that was not my own ran down my right leg, throbbing fiercely in time with my suddenly racing heart. Chancing a glance down at the odd sensation, I saw blood flowing freely down my thigh. I gripped a long, sharp knife in each hand, and I shook my head with a snort of air expelled from my nose, shaking long silvery braids out of my eyes.

Then I glanced around. An elf stood on either side of me, one with a round, solid face and silvery hair, the other with a softly pointed chin and hair the color of new yellow roses. Their eyes burned with a fierce determination that frightened me.

Then I glanced around again. Orcs. Dozens of them. Brass rings glittered in their ruined, mutilated ears, and filed fangs dripping with gore and rotting meat gleamed wetly beneath broken, crooked noses.

The round-faced elf on my left shook his head fiercely and tossed a glance in my direction. "Orophin, are you going to make a move, or are we going to dance these steps all night?"

Orophin? Ada? Was I…was I in Ada's mind? I knew that grown-ups could do that, but I was just a young boy…this was all so strange. And if this was Ada, then the others must be Uncle Haldir and Uncle Rúmil, for the three were practically inseparable.

As I tried to understand this strange new event, I nodded curtly. "Might as well get this over with, brothers, these things are putting me off my lunch." I lunged forward in a blur of motion, driving my knives deep into the throat of an orc, and pausing just long enough to tear my blades free before plunging the one in my left hand through the eye of another. Uncle Haldir was a swirling cloud of mossy silver cloak and silvery hair as his sword efficiently plowed through the bodies of three orcs in rapid succession. Uncle Rúmil had his back pressed up against a large old oak tree, jabbing and stabbing arrows through the necks of orcs as he fought to regain a moment to draw his blades.

Seeing a crudely-fashioned axe heading for Uncle Rúmil's side, I lunged wildly to decapitate the orc swinging at him, tumbling to the ground with the force of my momentum and coming up to my feet in a smooth, fluid roll…into a blur of blackened metal. Cold, hard steel slid around my throat, feeling almost like the caress of a necklace as it danced across my skin.

An annoying pain sliced across my skin in its wake, and I swatted at it with one hand, knives falling to the ground, forgotten. Hot, metallic liquid flowed down over my hand, and my child's mind quailed in confusion as I tasted blood. Did I bite my lip? Did I lose a tooth? Then the questions faded as I sank to my knees, the world going dark. Uncle Haldir roared in anger, dispatching the last five orcs in half as many seconds. The world went still as I was rolled onto my back. I stared up into Uncle Rúmil's stricken face as my hand was shoved away from my throat and a stronger hand clamped down over the irritating pain.

"Valar, no. No. Come on, 'Phin, hold on. We'll get you to the Lady, she'll be able to help you. Just stay awake." Huge, hot tears slid down Uncle Rúmil's face, and I stared up at him in confusion. Awake? But…I was so very tired. Surely just a few seconds couldn't hurt, could it? And there was a strange tingling throughout my body, not quite numbness, but something else. Was I…cold?

I reached an impossibly heavy hand up to brush Uncle Rúmil's cheek, coughing as though I had breathed in a lungful of smoke from a campfire. I tasted blood again. I felt my lips curving into a sad smile as my fingers traced my uncle's nose and lips, fingers strangely covered in hot, sticky blood. "You'd better get that looked at, Rú," I remarked quietly as my hand brushed over a nasty cut in his cheek. "Wouldn't want…to mark up your…pretty face." I sighed. I was so unspeakably tired…why wouldn't they just let me rest? Ama would be angry if I didn't get enough rest. "Where I go…you'd better never…follow," I whispered. Morgoth's crooked nose, but I wanted to rest. "I'd have to…do….something…irritating…" It wouldn't hurt if I just took a brief nap, would it? The world was darkening again…and this time I gave in to it. Sleep would fix everything.

A blood-curdling scream split the air, and I snapped awake, tumbling off the edge of the flet. Instinctively, I curled my body tightly around Helediriel's tiny frame, absorbing the impact of the ground with my back. My throat burned and I could still taste blood. The air knocked from my lungs, I probed my cheeks with my tongue. Ah, there it was. I'd bitten a small bit out of my cheek.

Gasping for air, I ran my hands over my infant cousin's body as she set up a loud wail. Seeing no easily apparent harm, I propped her against the base of the tree as another scream tore apart the tranquil silence of the forest. I raced across the damp, springy earth as fast as my small legs could carry me, until I rounded a corner and saw my mother. She leaned against an old, venerable mellyrn tree, clinging to it as if she were drowning and it were the only other floating thing left to save her. Her fingernails cut deep into the tree, and I could feel it wincing in pain…and screaming with her. All the trees were screaming.

After a final heaving, sobbing cry, Ama collapsed to the ground, senseless.

Aunt Laeroneth stood nearby, hugging herself and moaning softly as tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

I raced over to my mother's fallen form, shaking her desperately. "Ama? Ama! Ama, wake up! Ama, what happened? What's wrong? Ama!" I screeched, understanding in my small mind only two things: my world had just inexplicably changed, and I didn't like it at all.

Aunt Laeroneth grasped me by both arms, tugging me to my feet. "Come away, Limbrethil," she murmured, tears shaking her voice to shattered pieces.

I pulled away, not liking being told what to do. "I saw Ada," I declared hotly. "Go get Ada, he'll know what to do! I saw him! He's taking a nap on watch, go find him, he'll help Ama!"

This sent my aunt into a fresh spasm of weeping. She said nothing more as a small crowd of panicked neighbors gathered around us, hearing the commotion of the weeping trees and my unconscious mother. Aunt Laeroneth gathered Helediriel into the crook of her left arm, and, looping her right arm about my shoulders, guided me back home as a few neighbors bore my mother between them.

It was hours later, with the setting of the sun, that Uncle Haldir and Uncle Rúmil returned, walking slowly up the path with a bier of pine branches between them. Setting the bier gently onto the ground, Uncle Rúmil flung himself into my aunt's arms and buried his head in her shoulder. They both sank to the ground, sobs shaking their entire bodies. Uncle Haldir stood a few steps away, his face stony and unreadable, a deep cut over his eye sending slowly drying blood to mingle with his silent tears.

Spotting the person on the bier, I rushed madly for it, dropping to my knees. I shook my father frantically, pushing at his arms. "Ada? Ada, wake up! Ama is in trouble, I think she's hurt! Ada? Ada?" I wailed, to no avail. My father lay silent and still, his face paler than I'd ever seen, his skin cold.

Uncle Haldir took me by the shoulders, guiding me away towards the staircase of my home. "Your Ada….he….he isn't here any longer, little sapling." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes once more as he gazed down at me.

I stared at him wide-eyed, not understanding. "Where did he go?"

Uncle Haldir looked stricken as he blinked slowly, not heeding the bloody tears racing down his face. "He's gone to Mandos, little tree. Like Fingon of old."I still stared, sickeningly fascinated by the red tears sliding down my uncle's cheeks. "Will he be back soon, Uncle? Ama is ever so worried."

My uncle dropped to one knee in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders once more. "Your father…isn't coming back, Limbrethil. There are some places that one does not come back from." He choked back a sob and pulled me into his arms, tears and blood slipping down to run into my hair as he burrowed his face against my head.

I stood there, frozen, as I began to comprehend. Then, the world went black and I hit the ground.

We buried my father that night beneath the oldest of all the mellyrn trees this side of the Sea. Ama washed him and cleaned his wounds, and wrapped a band of black silk around his throat. Uncle Haldir combed Ada's hair and braided it back into the four braids of the march wardens, and the four-strand round braid of our family. He was laid in a deep furrow in the rich black earth, and covered with thousands of flowers.

Ama never spoke again after that night. She lay in her bed, silent, staring at the sky, growing thinner and paler every day, not eating, not drinking, not sleeping…simply existing. A month later, she was gone. I woke one morning to find her bed empty, save for two letters: one for my aunt, and one for me. She had left in the night, and by dawn had joined a small group heading ever westwards for the Sea…and Valinor.

That week, everything left in our house was slowly taken, piece by piece, to the house of my uncle Rúmil and aunt Laeroneth. A spare bedroom that looked out onto a rushing fountain far below became my new home.

And so the years passed by. I was now, effectively, an orphan.


	2. Chapter 2

I hit the ground hard, wincing as I felt my back crunch nastily against the root of a large mellyrn tree. My knives fell from suddenly numb fingers as a pair of battered boots clamped down over my wrists, gentle yet frighteningly firm. I gasped for air as a large weight settled on my chest, and I felt the cold press of knives against my throat.

"Once again, little tree, you are dead," Uncle Haldir growled, his jaw set firmly, a tic of displeasure throbbing halfway between his lips and his left ear. He crouched on my chest, knives crossed against my neck. "Where was your mind today, nephew? Mm? Wandering out among the trees? The stars? Following some winsome young lass?" His lips twitched to the right of his face, beginning to curl into a snarling sneer. "Were this a real battle, I would have killed you thrice today, and look at the sky: it's not even noon yet!"

My face burned in humiliation, and I could hear the rushing of my own pulse in my ears. I tried to resist the urge to lean into my uncle's blades and use my head to batter him in a particularly vulnerable area, just to wipe the smirk off his face. I bared my teeth, panting furiously for air, not sure whether I was snarling or groaning in pain…or frustration. Growling low in my throat, I let my head fall back against the root I was pinned to. I was exhausted, and I knew this wouldn't be the last time I ended up the target of my uncle's irritation. "I fight my hardest out here, and well you know it. Maybe if you didn't cheat, Uncle, I wouldn't always lose," I hissed, the last fragile strings of my pride threatening to give way.

Wrong answer.

The tic in Haldir's face twitched all the more fiercely, and he pressed his long knives harder against my skin. I felt one break the surface, and a thin ribbon of blood worked a hot trail down my collar and into my hair. "Cheat? You think this should be a fair fight?" He leaned in closer, a braid slipping over his shoulder to tickle my nose. "Orcs don't fight fair, boy," he spat, his breath hot and furious on my face. "They have no code of honor, no moral compass. An orc won't wait for you to stop daydreaming or take a breath, he'll gut you clean open." Leaning even closer, my uncle glared furiously down at me. "Get up. Keep your mind where it belongs so you can keep your head attached to your body. The orcs didn't fight fair for your father, and they won't fight fair for you." He shook his head in disappointment and disgust. "You're done for the day. Go home. You'll stay with your aunt for the remainder of the weekend. If you cannot manage to make yourself useful out here, then go home."

Hot, irrational rage bubbled up inside me, fueled all the more by my wounded pride. He wanted an all-out fight, did he? Right then…a fight he would get. Steeling myself, I brought my left knee up into his backside, and lunged upwards, hammering my head into his face as he fell forwards. Haldir reeled backwards with a curse, clutching his nose as he hit the ground. I secretly hoped it was broken.

Letting loose a lupine snarl, Haldir threw himself at my legs just as I pushed myself to my feet, toppling me to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I twisted like a fish in his grasp, lashing out to land a solid kick to his jaw. Tucking into a barrel roll, I swiveled and snatched up my knives as my uncle lunged to his feet.

I tucked into a somersault, rolling smoothly to my feet as Haldir bared his teeth in a predatory smile, knives at the ready. "I don't know whether you're extraordinarily stupid, boy, or extraordinarily brave," he snarled, shaking his hair from his face. Blood trickled from his nose and he wiped at it with the back of one hand. "You want a real fight, finally? Come on then." He threw himself at me, and the dance began.

Our knives flashed in the sunlight, feet dancing and kicking, the sound of clashing metal and solidly-landed blows filling the air. The other three young elves in my unit quickly gathered around, wary enough to leave us plenty of room, but eager to see one of their instructors truly test one of their own. They watched for the battle. I fought for my life…the dangerous glint in my uncle's eyes spoke of a solid beating at the very least, should he have the opportunity. I started the fight, and he intended to finish it.

I whipped a leg around, catching Haldir in the ribs. He wheezed as all the air left his lungs, and I pressed my advantage to the fullest, spinning and slashing, backing him into the very tree whose root he had pinned me against earlier. I held one knife to his throat, another point-first towards his belly. Somewhere in our battle, his lip had split. "I won't wait for you to catch your breath either, Uncle," I grated out between my teeth.

Admiration warred with rage in my uncle's silver eyes.

"_ENOUGH!"_ A voice unused to bellowing in such a manner split the sudden silence of the training grounds. A strong, slender hand clamped down on my shoulder, attempting to draw me from my uncle's throat.

"Piss off," I growled, trying to shrug that annoying hand away.

The hand shifted two fingers to my left ear, pinching and pulling to the point where I gasped and craned my neck, trying to escape the discomfort as I was roughly yanked around. Uncle Rúmil glared furiously at me, his jaw set like I'd never seen it set before. He shook me slightly, still grasping my ear, and I grimaced, tingling pain racing down the side of my face. "I said _enough_, Limbrethil," he seethed. "You were dismissed and yet you chose to continue the fight. A marchwarden does not stoop to such ugly tactics. Now get your things and get out. I don't want to see you anywhere near here until next week."

Shamed, I threw my knives into the ground blade-first, fuming, and stalked away. As always, he was right. Not only had I disobeyed and attacked an elder member of my family, I had shamed myself by a blatant display of prideful, arrogant violence. My face grew hot as a flaming flush covered my cheeks. I had disgraced Ada's memory with such behavior.

As I pulled on a fresh tunic, Haldir spat out a mouthful of blood and finally pushed himself away from the tree, which was giving off a general air of confused resignation. Grimacing, he sucked on his lip to stop the bleeding, and shot Rúmil a mutinous look as the younger of my uncles placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping him from charging towards me again.

"Much though I know you would love to murder your nephew where he stands, brother," Rúmil chuckled, somehow amused as he continued a rather odd dance to block Haldir's continuing attempts to step around him, "I do believe he has learned his lesson…for now. Should he ever learn to control that temper of his, he would be a fierce warrior. His determination does tend to cross into foolishness, but with a firm hand to guide him…we could use one such as him out on the borders."

Slinging my small pack onto my back, face still hot with shame, I began to trudge back to the city as Haldir spat out a final mouthful of bloody saliva. I looked back over my shoulder, attempting to attempt some small apology to sooth the anger of my kinsmen, and saw Uncle Haldir staring at his brother with a faraway look in his gaze. "No," he said softly. "No, we should place him with the royal guards in the city. I would not risk him on the borders."

I turned away, my face heating once again, tears welling up in my eyes. So…that was that, then. I was too unpredictable, too impulsive, too hot-headed. I would live a life of boredom and formality in the heart of the city, where the most interesting events were forbidden lovers' trysts. I was a risk, a liability…unfit for life on the borders.

As I walked slowly away once more, I barely caught my uncle's final words, thickened with grief. "I would not lose him like I lost Orophin."

So I was to be coddled? Sheltered? Forced to live out a dreary life to appease the fear and grief still fresh in the hearts of my father's brothers? I lowered my head, studying the fallen leaves of the few mortal trees scattered throughout the training grounds as I broke into a run. I understood the sentiment behind Haldir's words…three hundred some years was considered such a short time among our people, his grief was yet an open wound to his heart…yet I was no longer an elfling, helpless, naïve, and afraid. I was fast approaching full adulthood, surely the choice should be left to me whether I wanted to take my chances on the increasingly active borders or—and I shuddered inwardly at the thought—grow soft and complacent in the city.

The trees around me reached out to my thoughts, soothing my racing mind with their gentle whispers, their voices growing stronger and more assured as I left the mortal trees behind and wandered deeper into the heart of Lothlorien. They spoke of reason, of love, of compromise and healing. I nodded to myself and to them, slowing my pace to a walk. They had a rather good point: fresh grief can beget a certain level of trepidation to enter the same situation that caused the grief. Perhaps…perhaps Haldir had a point. Perhaps I should try my hand in Caras Galadhon before joining my uncles on the borders. It would give us time for the grief to fade, the wounds to heal. And after all, it wouldn't be extraordinarily dreary, I had friends among the city guards to pass the time with, the night air was often filled with music and laughter, the food was hot and the beds were comfortable. In the end, I was immortal; a few hundred years here or there could be passed easily, as long as I kept myself busy.

With a lighter heart, I stopped still, recognizing where I was. An old, venerable, silver birch tree stood at the center of a small grove of its own saplings, the only mortal growth for miles in any direction. My trees. My namesake and my friends for nearly two hundred years, they grew slower, reached taller, and lived longer than the mortal trees on the borders, grown strong on the water and air of our forest, the place time forgot. I jumped in a fluid, graceful leap, grasping a low-hanging branch and vaulting into the old tree. It hummed in greeting in my mind, and branches wavered in a sudden breeze, leaves and twigs brushing over my face and hair.

I found a perch midway up the tree, and pressed my cheek against the smooth, hard trunk, greeting the tree in return, running my fingers gently down the bark as I settled in. Like hell I was going home that night, not with both my uncles in a rage over my foolish behavior. Nearby mellyrn trees rustled their ever-green leaves in agreement, no doubt remembering other generations of lads as foolhardy as I. I smiled as I sank back into the birch tree, feeling the branch beneath me and the trunk behind me subtly shift to accommodate my position. Aye, this was a fine place to wait out my uncles' anger. The brightest of the stars would shine right down through a small clearing in the branches above me, a small stream ran past the outermost ring of saplings, and a family of nightingales regularly made their home in the same tree I so often favored.

I had just pulled a roll of paper and a pencil of burnt charcoal from my bag, intending to draw the young fawn I noticed drinking from the stream, when a sudden shift in the soothing voices of the trees made me sit up straighter, holding my breath. The trees were afraid. An ugly shudder of fear raced through the grove, and as we reached out together to the rest of the forest, the ripple of terror grew, racing out across all of Lorien. Searching, questioning, stretching my mind out along the roots of the trees, I found the source of the fear: the western border. Even the most mortal trees on the very outskirts of our land were shaking in confusion and terror. At such a great distance, their words were garbled, but as the message raced through the forest, I finally understood. An unspeakable evil had just crossed into our fair land. Strangers were coming, outsiders, though two were familiar enough to be distantly remembered…and with them came danger and change.

Crumpling both parchment and pencil into my pack, I leapt from the old birch tree to land in a crouch, bouncing slightly on my toes to absorb the impact. I could hardly bother with climbing all the way down, not when all of Lothlorien was in terror. I set off in a dead sprint, my feet racing for Caras Galadhon as my mind raced through a list of common possibilities, eliminating them one by one. The trees recognized the young foster from Imladris, though surely he wasn't here to moon over his lady love; the Lady Arwen was back with her father. They recognized Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood, and though his presence combined with that of the young human Aragorn was nothing new, it didn't explain the reek of fear in the air. There were others the trees did not recognize: a human whose mind shook with confusion, four creatures only a handful of trees identified as Halflings from far off in the west of Arda….and a dwarf. I felt my nostrils flare in disgust as I considered such a creature in our land. As a whole, the dwarves had no love for the trees, preferring the cold silence of stone to the life of the green, growing things. They had also been known to cut trees from the nearby groves just beyond our borders, just to fuel the fires in their mines…and on occasion had cut a few of our own most beloved trees. Horrid, greedy creatures, the lot of them. Turning my attention back to the others, I made a mental count in my head: eight. Eight outsiders to worry about, carrying trouble on their backs, and each and every one of them radiated an unspeakable sorrow.

I entered the outskirts of the city running the fastest I had ever run in my life, and thundered up the stairs to the home of my aunt and uncle. Helediriel lay on a low couch, playing with the tail of a tiny grey kitten as she read a book. Blue eyes dusted with pale green rose to my face, and one slender gold eyebrow reached for the heavens. "I suppose," she grumbled, amused, as she brushed the kitten off her lap and neatly tucked her book under a nearby pillow, "you have a good reason for charging in here like a rampaging moose?" She sat up, then stood, in one fluid movement, her gold gown brushing over toes that were most definitely bare…and dirty.

I raised an eyebrow in response. "And I suppose you, dear cousin mine, have a good explanation as to why your feet are bare and dirty, and your gown newly mended?" I chanced another look at the book protruding from under the pillow, and spotted the handle of a finely-crafted knife next to it. "And while we're on the topic of explanations, you need none for that book and that knife. Those are mine, give them back. Now."

Helediriel pouted fiercely, cheeks a pale rose, and I rolled my eyes. Ai, Valar, I pitied the young lad she fancied…here was a fierce, stubborn maid who would rain all sorts of grief down upon anyone who got in her way. "I'll give them back…but only if you tell me everything you know about what's happening. The trees are weeping, Lim, they're scared…and I want to know why."

I rolled my eyes again, this time in frustration, and silently groaned at the use of my shortened name. "I know no more than you do, little bird, I swear it. The trees have told me all they know: eight strangers have arrived, of various races, and with them comes evil. I ran all the way here from my grove, and I know nothing else." I reached for the book and knife she now held in her hands, growling as she snatched them away. "I swear to you, I know nothing more."

Helediriel pursed her lips, pretending to consider my words. "And?"

I groaned inwardly once more. Valar, here we went again. "And I promise not to tell your parents that you were out by the river again, as you so obviously were. Now go wash your feet and put some shoes on, or I won't have to tell them. They'll figure it out on their own." I shook my head, sighing as my cousin finally returned my belongings and raced off to erase the last traces of her escapades from her feet.

Sighing in frustration once more, I made my way to my bedroom and was rewarded by the sight of the family cat, Gwilwileth, purring furiously on my pillow in the late afternoon sunlight pouring in through the arches that served as windows. She licked a paw calmly as I sank onto the bed to remove my boots. "What am I going to do with her, Gwil?" I pondered, absently scratching the grey cat behind her ears. "I can't possibly survive the next two or three hundred years in the same house as her…I swear, it would drive me insane. She was born into this world for the sole purpose of teaching me patience in the face of extreme irritation!"

Gwilwileth paused her bath long enough to stare up at me with lazy gold eyes.

"Right. I'm asking a creature who does nothing but lay in pools of sunlight all day. You don't even know the meaning of impatience." I tweaked her tiny pink nose fondly as the kitten, Meril, toddled in on legs she had yet to grow into, and settled at her mother's belly to nurse. Gwilwileth looked over her shoulder at her belly, and grumbled low in her throat. It was almost time for the kitten to be weaned, and the kitten was rather attached to her mother's milk. Giving the preoccupied animal one last pat on the head, I slid into a soft pair of shoes, and slipped out the window onto a thick branch, settling in to wait for more news of the strangers.

The hours slipped by, the trees slowly easing into low murmurings of discomfort, their initial panic subsiding. No doubt the Lady Galadriel had something to do with putting their fears to rest. I was about to ask the tree I sat in if it had heard anything new, when Meril clambered into my lap, butting her tiny head against my hand until I stroked her back. "Well, hello there, little flower." I grinned. Nothing like a milk-sleepy kitten to put your mind at ease.

Twigs snapped far below in the growing twilight, and I craned my neck to see the ground, careful not to drop the tiny cat in my arms. The strangers wandered the paths behind my uncles, both of whom bore the same expression of grim, quiet dread. There was Aragorn, known as Estel among my people. There was Prince Legolas, though I recognized him only by appearance, having never actually met him before. A human, reeking of confusion and arrogance, trailed a bit behind, a slightly mad gleam in his eye that not many would have noticed. Lovely…no doubt he was of high station of some sort, used to a certain level of acknowledgement he wasn't getting here in our woods. I resisted the urge to spit in disgust as the dwarf passed by, satisfied that at least his axe was firmly strapped to his back. Grief emanated from all of them, some deep, unspeakable sorrow I wanted no part of.

Then I saw them. Tiny, shorter even than the dwarf, with large furred feet and ears almost like my own. Periain. Halflings. Four of them. Around the neck of one with a curly mop of black hair, under startlingly blue eyes, rested a simple necklace chain. A trinket, no doubt, perhaps a family heirloom.

It was then that I noticed the evil presence pouring through the woods even stronger, strong enough to send the tree I was in into a shuddering spasm of pure terror. Terror that pointed straight at the chain around the neck of the waiflike Halfling. The boy paused, looking up into the trees with wondering, tearstained eyes that showed a depth of age and maturity surely beyond his years. A simple ring slid out of his shirt with the movement, and I nearly fell off my perch as I saw it. Paying no mind to the kitten clawing at my arms, I stared at the tiny object, transfixed. A simple gold band, it stank of evil, and was a sight straight from the history books I studied as a child.

The Ring of Sauron had come to Lorien.


End file.
